Dahlia
by EffieEverly
Summary: WARNING: If you're behind on the show or you haven't read the books, please don't read on. There are no real spoilers, but the course of the show will play a part in the story. This story takes place sometime near the end of Season 1.


_"Mother, where is my father?"_

It was a question many women of her mother's status were faced with and while many answers were not ideal, it was common to have an answer nonetheless. Perhaps he was murdered, or maybe he was in a dungeon somewhere in Flea Bottom. Maybe he had three other families in Winterfell, or perhaps he was out back tending the goats and would be in later. Regardless, most children were content and comfortable not knowing and many mothers were happy not to be asked.

Dahlia was no ordinary girl and her complacency was anything but solid. She had asked that question each year for the last ten years and her mother had danced around with the answer held above her head for far too long. Her mother knew and Dahlia knew that she knew. She'd begged, pleaded and perhaps even cried into her mother's lap, and even still the woman remained mute on the matter.

_"My babe, it is safer this way…" _or_ "My rose, you mustn't ask me this…"_ were common responses. Always delivered in a patient, stern voice with a gentle hand resting upon her head. Years would pass between her inquiries where she'd forget all about it. She would mend clothing, bake bread, and chase cats through the streets. It was that one day a year, her nameday, that the question would surface and the space inside felt emptiest.

_"Mother, please.. Why won't you tell me!"_

"Oh, my dear, why must you bother me with this."

Dahlia was a small girl, thin and petite and not overly tall. She had a well-groomed head of golden hair, and icy blue eyes that's bore into the soul when she felt wronged. She had few dresses and even fewer shoes, but she always managed to look lovely. She was intelligent, sensitive and as stubborn as a bull. She had much of her mother in her and yet she felt a strong disconnect with her in most ways.

Her mother was a lovely, strong woman. She'd been married to a farmer years before Dahlia was born, and together they sold pigs, chickens and wielded a farm. They had earned a decent amount of money that way and existed happily not far from Winterfell's gates. Her husband was killed on the road while making a delivery and the farm fell into despair. Her mother had taken a job at the nearest tavern not long after, serving all sorts of folks their ale.

A stubborn huff sent wisps of hair flying from her face. She slid herself away from the table and stormed off to the back of the small hut, leaving her mother to clean her hands in her skirts and prepare herself for work. Later that afternoon after she'd finished her sulking, she emerged from hiding and returned to the front of the hut. Her mother was gone but the fire was still burning strong and hot. She stared at it for a moment, twirling a long strand of hair between her fingers in thought.

Suddenly a pair of hands darted out from the darkness and snagged her around the waist, lifting her from the floor.

_"I'VE GOT YA!"_

She gasped softly but quickly knew who had grabbed her as she was settled back on the floor. She turned around and swatted at his shoulder to which he flinched and pulled away.

_"Ey! Stop it. I'm just havin' a bit of fun with yeh."_

Her mother had a son with her farmer husband many, many years before Dahlia came into the world. His name was Roan and he was a man, just shy of his seventeenth name day. He worked as a servant for a butcher nearby and spent most of his time there. He wasn't incredibly smart or even all that good looking, but he was strong and skilled.

_"When did you get here?"_ She wrapped her little arms around his bicep and gave him a squeeze before moving to sit beside the fire, the scent of meat and blood fresh on his clothing.

_"Not long, just slid away for a moment. I wanted to give you a gift."_

He pulled a folded cloth from his pocket and tossed it down to her. She caught it and held it in front of her, looking at him.

_"Go on then, open it."_

She gingerly unfolded the layers of cloth and exposed the treasure inside. A single gold dragon coin lay shimmering against the fire. She'd never seen such money in her life. Her eyes lit up and she stared up at him with her mouth open.

_"Oh Roan! Where did you find this?"_

_"A high lord and soldiers road through a fortnight ago and I found it."_

_"You kept it. Why not spend it?"_

_"Me? A butcher boy? I'd be branded a thief and tossed to the wolves."_

She clutched the coin in her hand and smoothed a finger over the rough edges. She wouldn't be able to spend the coin either, but it felt good to have it in her hands. She gently tucked it into a pocket and stood to embrace him.

_"Thank you Roan."_

_"Ay, you're welcome little bird. Now then, I'm off."_ He bent to kiss her cheek and turned to leave. She grabbed his hand suddenly and pulled him back.

_"Roan, wait."_

He stopped and looked down at her inquisitively, eye brows raised as if expecting something. She stayed quiet a moment and finally just blurted it out rather bluntly.

_"Roan, she won't tell me who he is. I have asked and waited and now I am tired of it. Please, if you know, will you tell me?"_

He blinked and frowned a bit, reclaiming his hand as she dropped it and scratching the back of his head in silence.

_"Dahlia, I have only a guess … nothing else."_ He sighed.

She felt embarrassed for bringing up such a personal question with him. He was a busy man and he knew who his father was. Why should he care about her childish needs? Roan was incredibly patient and while he had no obligation to tell her anything, he sat down and pulled her to him and looked her in the eye.

_"One day mother came back and not long after, there you were. Countless men wander through these lands, comin' and goin'. I've heard… rumors, only rumors…"_

_"If he was just a man, any man, why would she hide it?"_ She stared at him, willing him to continue.

He smiled, nodding softly. _"Ay, you're right. It's not just any man, I reckon.'_

She sat quietly at the table the following morning, rotating the gold coin in her fingers. She stared quietly at the door, waiting for her mother to return. She had been up all night, her mind stewing with this new information. Her father was sure to be someone important. Why would she hide it from her?

Her mother arrived as usual, just before the sun reached the hills. She was in her tavern wear; dirty, greasy, and exhausted. She swept hair from her face and closed the door behind her. As she turned to face the table, she jumped nearly out of her skin at the sight of the tired little Dahlia.

_"My sweet, why are you awake?"_

She went to untying her apron and grabbed a bucket from the woodpile to begin chores. Dahlia smiled, tucked the gold coin in her pocket and spoke rather suddenly.

_"He's someone important, isn't he? That is why you won't tell me."_

_"Dahlia. I'll have no more of this! That is ENOUGH."_

_"What is it? Is he some sort of high lord? I don't understand."_

There was deafening silence. Her mother stared at her and Dahlia stared right back. She knew her mother was weakening. She'd plucked a step from beneath her feet and she knew now the secret was teetering on the edge.

_"Dahlia, if you only knew… how dangerous it might be… for you, for me."_

She felt a strange satisfaction in pushing her mother; perhaps it was childish spite at being kept in the dark for so long. She was so close now to knowing the truth; completely numb to the dangers her mother has dwelled on for so long.

_"I'm not afraid of the truth. Tell me. Who is he?"_

Her mother looked terrified all of the sudden, weakened and defeated. She settled into a chair and nodded softly.

_"He's a Lannister. His name is Tyrion Lannister."_


End file.
